


flickering images, ghostly vision

by Kalgalen



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, nothing really it's pretty chill as far as mag fics go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 08:24:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18362252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalgalen/pseuds/Kalgalen
Summary: Melanie shrugs and motions to the item, still nested in newspapers stuffed in a shoebox. “What does it do, then?”“According to this statement,” Basira says, tapping a file on her desk, “it shows monsters. Avatars. Non-humans, in any case. Given our situation, it might be useful.”“Hmm.” A pause, as Melanie seems to think. “What would it showus?”“What?”“What would it show us, Basira?”





	flickering images, ghostly vision

The mirror sat on Basira’s desk doesn’t look like much. Its frame is unremarkable, barely a decade old; its only apparent particularity is its shape - multi-sided, irregular and chaotic, speaking of its origin as a part of a bigger piece. Its history is out of the ordinary, though, as are its properties.

“This is it, then,” Basira says. She doesn’t bother making it sound like a question; she knows the answer already.

Melanie, sat on the other side of the desk, nods. “One creepy mirror, direct from Edinburgh.”

“I hope it wasn’t too much trouble to acquire.”

Melanie shrugs and motions to the item, still nested in newspapers stuffed in a shoebox. “What does it do, then?”

“According to this statement,” Basira says, tapping a file on her desk, “it shows monsters. Avatars. Non-humans, in any case. Given our situation, it might be useful.”

“Hmm.” A pause, as Melanie seems to think. “What would it show _us?_ ”

“What?”

“What would it show us, Basira?”

Melanie’s eyes are steely, and there’s no doubt as to what she’s really asking. _How human are we?_

Basira doesn’t let herself be apprehensive; she glances down on the mirror, and reaches for it.

“Only one way to find out, I guess.”

Basira braces herself, and looks into the mirror. For a moment, nothing seems to be any different; but then her reflection starts to shimmer and twist, and it looks back…

it looks back

it looks _back_ -

Basira puts the mirror back down a bit more forcefully than necessary, and Melanie glances at her curiously.

“Did you see anything?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Basira lies with a shrug.

She sounds thoroughly unrattled, though she won’t meet Melanie’s eyes. Melanie makes a noise of doubt, but doesn’t push; she picks up the mirror instead, and faces it with no apparent hesitation.

If she sees anything, she’s not letting it show on her face; she looks in the mirror for a long minute, then delicately places it back into its box.

“Okay,” she says.

“So?” Basira asks, giving her an inquisitive look.

Melanie leans back in her chair, lacing her fingers in her lap. Her features are set in a deeply sardonic and self-satisfied expression; when she speaks next, each word is deliberate and carefully enunciated, filled with a hidden meaning Basira has no trouble deciphering.

“Oh, you know,” she says, and the smile she addresses Basira is all teeth and no warmth. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

* * *

"A mirror that reveals monsters?" Jon asks, looking up from his notes.

Daisy makes a noise of confirmation from where she's sitting at Basira's desk. Jon's appropriated Tim's former desk - Melanie has left her own research strewn around on Sasha's desk, and he couldn't bring himself to sit in Martin's place - even though the chances of it being claimed again by his rightful occupant are depressingly slim.

"That's what it says here. Statement of..." she comes back to the first page of the file, "Patrick Cunnigan. He came in to give it right before surrendering to the authorities for the murder of his wife Lila. Apparently, it was self-defense. Says she would have killed him otherwise, once she found out he knew she wasn't human. He caught her reflection in that mirror, and she- hmm."

"What is it?"

"She looked like a _big demonic insect,_ apparently. He didn't think twice - grabbed the nearest blunt object and bludgeoned her to death with it. Spiders fled from the remnants of her skull, and he ran." Daisy flips to the end of the document and hums. "Looks like he thought you guys could help him prove he didn't hallucinate."

"Did we?" Jon inquires, though he doesn't hold out much hope.

"No." Of course. "The mirror was nowhere to be found at the murder scene - which didn't work in his favor, as you can imagine. But I guess he actually told the truth, because Basira tracked it, apparently." Daisy pats the closed box in front of her, and glances expectantly at Jon.

"What?"

"Aren't you curious?"

Jon hesitates; his eyes fall on the box, and remain here. "I... doubt it'll show me anything I'm not aware of yet."

"We can still check if it works," Daisy says, and flicks the lid open to uncover the mirror.

It's a jagged, disharmonious thing which Jon hates and feels drawn to simultaneously; he's on his feet and walking toward Daisy before he can even make the decision to do so. Daisy pushes the protective layer of newspaper aside and presents the item, handle first, to Jon.

"After you, Archivist," she teases, a faint smile on her lips. Jon grumbles, though he's pleased to see her try to fight off the gloom that seems to permeate the place.

He accepts the mirror. The handle is cold to the touch; the silvery reflective layer is slightly tarnished, but clear enough that he can see his reflection perfectly. It is doing a great job at being a mirror, but not much else.

After a sufficient amount of time, Jon prepares to tell Daisy as much, but as he looks away the feeling of wrongness emanating from the mirror increases tenfold and he looks back at it immediately as if it would allow him to catch it red-handed, and that is

 _too many eyes too many questions a insatiable hunger not for food but for knowledge and he knows he knows_ _**i** _ **_t knows_ **

\- too much to handle, despite his claim that he was prepared for it. Jon thrusts the mirror back into Daisy's hands and mumbles, voice tight: "Oh, it _works."_

Daisy considers him with an attentive eye, but doesn't comment. She turns the mirror between her fingers, examining it closely; Jon almost expects her to give it a sniff, but instead she looks into it. Jon observes her reaction, waiting for the initial curiosity followed by the jolt of surprise and displeasure that he felt himself. Daisy does jump, just a little, when her image changes - but then she relaxes, and releases a long sign before placing the mirror back on the desk.

"Are you alright, Daisy?" Jon asks cautiously.

She shrugs, gives him a pale smile. "I'm - still me."

* * *

The assistants' room of the Archives is, for once, empty. Basira is neck-deep into her schemes, Jon and Daisy have gone up to the break room, and Melanie is sitting next to a new door in a distant hallway, her back to the wall and chatting idly with the one being she remotely trusts at the moment, which is saying something given the nature of said being.

Though he's most likely aware of it, Martin stops at the doorway and casts a cautious glance around before he enters, carrying an empty cardboard box. He creeps toward his former desk with exaggerated caution, as if trying to make as little noise as possible; he looks around to the empty chairs, and the expression on his face is one of pained regret. Then he shakes his head, breathes in - back to the focused single-mindedness he's been clinging to these days.

He sets the box down on his chair, and begins clearing the desk of any remaining traces he's ever been here. He removes a notebook from a drawer, two gently used books from another; a pen holder, gift from Sasha during a Secret Santa event, is quickly dropped of in the box as if it's red hot metal, and promptly covered in a wad of scribbled drafts. He thoroughly checks the desk twice for anything he might have left, but there wasn't much to reclaim in the first place.

"...Best for them," Martin murmurs to the empty office. "Yeah."

He picks the box up and goes for the exit, when the glint of the mirror catches his eye. Daisy hasn't covered it back up after examining it, and it flashes enticingly under the fluorescent lights above. Martin seems to hesitate, glancing anxiously toward the exit; then, evidently going against his better judgment, he drifts toward the artefact.

He leaves his burden on Basira's chair, and stops right before grabbing the metal handle. He notices the file stuck under the shoebox and cautiously retrieves it. As he flips through it, an interested spark lits up in his eyes; he abandons the statement on the desk, and reaches for the mirror again. Martin winces when his hand touches the metal, and he seems about to change his mind - before he frowns, and lifts the mirror up.

At first he keeps it pointed at the ceiling, away from himself, as he stands there frozen with indecision. He's worrying his bottom lips between his teeth, looking at the statement, then to the open exit door, then back at the mirror again. Curiosity wins in the end, and he raises the mirror up, meeting his own tired, worried eyes.

A chip immediately appears in a corner of the antique glass.

Martin recoils when the mirror shatters in his hands. Spiderwebbed with cracks, it gives him back multiple reflections of himself, and not one resembles the others.

He takes a shuddering breath, sets the mirror back down on Basira's desk, and leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on Tumblr @[kalgalen](https://kalgalen.tumblr.com/) \- come say hi?
> 
> edit: [HELLO HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WONDERFUL ART MARINA DREW FOR THAT FIC](https://twitter.com/MarinaVermilion/status/1115128216820183040)


End file.
